Nearly a quarter of the Undead Legion had been completely annihilated under the overwhelming assault of the Red Iron Dragon, with the battlefield covered in remnants of bones and scattered soul fires, like a grey-white carpet of death.
Yet, the giant dragon, majestic as a mountain, with scale armor as hard as iron, still appeared unhurried, brimming with fighting spirit.
Its black and red interwoven dragon scales bore clear, carved-like battle scar patterns, as if carrying the memories and glory of countless battles, emanating an endless, overwhelming power.
"Damn it... how could I encounter such an unbelievably strong dragon?"
The witch demon's soul fire flickered intensely in his sockets; for a moment, he could barely suppress the tremor from deep within his soul.
He faced an unprecedented difficult choice.
To risk everything and continue the death battle, or to retreat and minimize losses?
